


A Very Eventful Day

by juuten10



Series: A Peek Into the Lawful-Yet-Not-So-Much Life of One Kuroba Kaito [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Future Fic, Gen, Prompt Fic, kuroba kaito is a little shit, poor Hakuba, unnamed ocs who are not that important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juuten10/pseuds/juuten10
Summary: Being a cab driver comes with its grievances, and said grievances come from the passengers, be it vomiting children, childbirth, emo kids, or car chases.





	A Very Eventful Day

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by the prompt: "Many action movies involve the hero jumping into a vehicle and demanding the driver to "follow that car!" Write from the perspective of the driver."
> 
> My debut fic to this site! I've been lurking around this site for who knows how long and finally decided to write a fic.
> 
> Just for clarification, the cab driver is an oc.

The day cannot possibly go any worst for a cab driver.

So far, six hours into the job for the day have been going absolutely atrocious—a pregnant lady went into labour five minutes into the drive, a three-year-old child vomited out what looked like corn bits and white lumps from maybe cream soup (he turns out to be allergic to seafood, how the parents have gone years without noticing _is_ a wonder), and an androgynous teen who appears to be still in _the_ phase jumped and banged their head to every song playing in the radio and proceeded to scream to _She’s Gone_ (sure, the song is very iconic, but he did not appreciate having a car-tire screech right next to his left ear in an attempt to belt out the impressive high notes—he is absolutely sure that he can only hear from his right ear now. No thanks to the radio jockey either). 

A very eventful day, he knows, and not even half his job hours has passed.

Thankfully, the husband of the pregnant lady is a doctor—now a father; he offered his congratulations—who thankfully has enough knowledge to safely deliver the baby and leaves a generous tip; the parents with the allergic child too apologises profusely and gives him a discount coupon to a repair shop (he appreciates the sentiment, really).

(As expected, the teenager did not even look remotely remorseful stepping off the car to their destination airily with a noticeably lighter feel as opposed to the furrowed brows and downturned curl of the lips.)

He is hoping that the first and second incident does not leave permanent smell in his car; he does not have the money to replace it so soon, dammit. He is glad that his wife had gotten him a spare car freshener, no matter how the scent may be a bit too strong to his liking (which is actually a godsend in this very situation; he wonders if his wife really did start taking the online Tarot-reading and star-chart lessons she mentioned in a passing last week).

As he wallows in his predicament, a shadow—a motorbike?—zooms past his cab. “Reckless,” he muses out loud to himself.

He is about to move the gear and step on the gas as the light turns green when vigorous knockings interrupts his musings. The sound continues and grows more frantic every passing second. When he cranes his neck, he sees a young man with a perpetual frown on his face holding a fist onto a rear window, the door handle clacking incessantly. He raises his brows in wonder and unlocks the rear door.

An audible sigh echoes through the car when the man plops down right in the middle of the backseat. The man leans forward, an arm resting on the top of the driver’s seat, the sleeves of his tweed suit brushing the driver’s shoulders. Now that he is closer, he notices that the man has no facial hair whatsoever, his fair brown hair neatly styled, perhaps a tad bit dishevelled from haste, eyes reddish brown—definitely a half, seeing as his features are mostly Asian, though a tad bit sharper.

The brunet points to a black motorbike—is that the one that just sped past?—slinking through the traffic with almost impossible grace. “Follow that bike,” he grunts, “hurry!”

He jumps in his seat, not expecting the urgency of the tone and proceeds to drive. Still careful not to go too over the speed limit, he drives as fast as he can and safely—chasing a motorbike is not exactly ideal in a car, but what a customer wants is what they get. Even when he cuts through slower cars and slips through, he can barely keep the motorbike in his line of sight. He sees the man shuffles in the seat, his leg twitching and never keeps still longer than a second.

As he manages to barely go through the yellow light before it turns red, he asks the man, “Er, if I may, why are you chasing that bike?”

The man ruffles his hair and sighs. “The one on the bike is my partner and simultaneously my ride,” he says bitterly, “Then he ran, or rather, drives off with my, _our,_ _only ride_ to chase the suspects when they managed to blindside us.”

“You’re from the police?” surprise manages to slip through his tone as he blinks at the rear mirror eyeing the man, still young enough to study for his doctorate.

“Inspector Hakuba Saguru of Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, at your service,” the now-identified inspector nods, his tone resigned.

He nods, not knowing what to say to the clearly exhausted man. He focuses on the road and enters the highway (tailing the speeding bike while driving safely at the same time has proven to be strenuous to his heart rate and blood pressure and patience).

“Excuse me,” a voice mutters, and when he turns, he sees Hakuba tossing his shoes—a pair of scuffed but shined brown leather loafers worn from use—to the car floor at the passenger seat and proceeding to slip a leg through the gap between the passenger and driver’s seats, then his body and the other leg; all the while the car moves. He drops to the passenger’s seat gracefully once his whole body is safely tucked beside the driver. He slips on his shoes, puts on the seatbelt, and leans back to the seat as if nothing out of the sort has happened. The only thing showing that something has clearly happened is that his previously immaculate suit has become somewhat rumpled and his shirt collar a bit askew (while he politely mentions those to the man, he tactfully does not tell him that he looks as if he has done a short and rather mild car sex).

When he has finished straightening his suit and collar, the Darth Vader theme song blares out of nowhere. Neither of them moves until Hakuba seems to realise something and fishes out his phone from his pocket. He grumbles something like ‘That git, changing other people’s ringtone as he pleases,’ as he receives the call.

The black motorbike is still speeding ahead, swerving around cars and other motorbikes with almost-impossible grace and agility. Now that they have entered the highway, he can speed up as well. Changing the gear, he steps up his game.

“Hold on tight,” his grin is evident in his tone. It has, after all, been a while since he had the chance to let loose—retiring from his career as underground racer does him good, he admits, but hey, he is not going to turn down a _race_ race. He sees the inspector about to say something from his peripheral vision. He may have stepped on the gas pedal a little too vigorously and the man beside him may have snapped his mouth shut in that instance, but who cares?

He trills at the rush he feels in his veins, it has been _way_ too long since he had a proper race while trying to be law-abiding at the same time. His grin may have grown a little too manic if the wary if-almost-afraid looks the inspector shoots at him every few seconds have been any indication.

Now that he has gotten closer to the black motorbike, he sees the rider—sleek black helmet, equally-black windbreaker, and just-as-black (is that leather? Is that even remotely comfortable when riding a bike?) pants tucked into black boots. (Is this person from the police or a biker gang? It is too hard to tell.)

Hakuba seems to realise something when he sees him shift in his seat. Looking at the rear-view mirror, his expression shifts into alarmed as he practically shouts to his ear (his ears may not last through his thirties, rest in peace), “We’ve passed them!”

“What?” The black motorbike is still in front of them. “But the bike is still-“

“Not the bike, I mean the suspects’ car!” The inspector’s voice grows more frantic, obviously distressed at the turn of events. He then looks between the mirror and the front, visibly torn. “Please slow down!” he tells him, then whispers under his breath, “What the bloody hell are you planning to do-“

All of a sudden, the motorbike skids onto a sharp drift, now facing backwards and drives towards them. (Is this guy _nuts_!?) His ears perk at a few choices of creative curses that can make sailors blush from the man beside him as he steps on the brakes (a little too hard, he admits).

This is the moment where the unthinkable happens—he has never seen _anyone_ launching a bike to the bonnet (he swears he sees the biker _smirk_ behind the visors, what the hell) then to the _fucking roof_ of the car (with another horrifying thump, he realises that his car is now _ruined)._ He pokes his head out of the side window tentatively and chances a look when he is graced with the flight of the bike from the roof onto the front of a nondescript grey van.

He can barely see the terrified looks of the driver and passenger of the van when the front wheel of the bike crashes onto the front window, spider-web cracks all over.

“Dear Almighty,” the inspector whispers, more exasperation in his tone rather than the disbelief he is now feeling. When he turns to Hakuba, the man is cradling his face in his hands. “The damage, dear Mary, why have you forsaken me?”

He shares the same sentiment, albeit lamenting more on his car repair fees. He cannot thank the vomiting-seafood-allergic-child couple enough for the voucher, though he may as well buy a new better car altogether.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and reviews and comments are welcome. Kaito barely appears, but I hope I do Hakuba justice.


End file.
